Airport bars
Love ‘em. Just love ‘em. Alcoholics who can’t go two hours without a drink, the 50-year-old businesswoman who’s afraid of flying, the old guy in the corner on an oxygen tank but still tossing back scotch on the rocks. It’s a better cross-section of drinkers than you’ll ever see anywhere else - in fact, they’re really the only bars that I’ll ever strike up a conversation with someone near me for no good reason. I mean, why the hell not? You’ll never see them again and you’re both probably bored as hell, nursing your $7 beers and wanting to kill the screaming child over in the corner where the family has taken up twice as much table space as they really need.
Flying up to see my moms and grandparents - always interesting. I walked over to the SRQ airport, sweating like a pig because it’s 80 degrees or more outside
Sweet Freedom
So I’ve quit my job, more or less. I’m still working on a “training” basis - which means that I go in once or twice a week to help out with the transition while I leave. I’ll hopefully be doing some consulting work in the future for the department - doing large projects when they come up. It’s really what I wanted to do in the first place and what I really enjoy.
In the meantime I’ve bought myself a new laptop (for work purposes - there’s only legal software on here!!!), I’ve been drinking beerdrinking beer and kind of relaxing - plus I went to Mardi Gras but that ended up being a clusterfuck of gigantic proportions. Plus I’m working on getting healthy again - I get fatter every time I work and then when I’m out of work I skinny up quite a bit. Gettin’ rid of the